Worth a Shot
by Dreamicide
Summary: Ahiru is curious over the strange bottle Fakir brought home to help with his writing.


**notes:** prompt was "how old are you, honestly!"

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**Worth a Shot**

When Fakir wasn't able to produce a single page – let alone a full manuscript – in over five weeks, he sought out Autor for advice on inspiration. The first suggestion was a classic method for curing writer's block: drink. Sometimes a buzz could loosen his mind, let his fingers glide over the parchment ("Who knows, maybe it'll turn out to be even better than what you normally churn out," Autor had said, only to be met with a flat glare). Fakir figured it was worth a shot, and so stopped by a liquor store on the way back home.

Ahiru was there to greet him with a warm smile as always, and followed him up the stairs as he made his way into his room. She plopped down on his bed like it was out of habit (it was) and curled up with one of his pillows to watch him carefully as he sat down at the desk. She knew very well of his struggles with writing lately and wanted to support him as best she could.

_I don't even know if there's anything I can do_, she thought as she pressed her nose into the pillow, _but I'll still do my best, even if it just means sitting here!_

That was when Fakir reached down to pull out a bottle from a brown paper bag, and her eyebrows rose. Fakir normally never ate or anything when he was at his desk.

"What's that?" It didn't look like anything she'd seen him have before.

Fakir had already poured a small amount in a glass before pausing and mulling over his answer. Knowing her, she would be curious and want to try some herself, but… was that really a smart idea.

"It's something only adults can have." There, that would be enough to mollify her interest, right?

But Ahiru had to remind him that this was _Ahiru_ he was thinking about.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she bounced off and drew to his side, eyeballing the glass of mysterious amber-colored something. "Can I try some?" she asked innocently.

Fakir shifted in his seat. "I'd rather you not," he answered honestly, remembering just how light she was and that he'd rather know what effect it would have on _him_ before allowing her to take a sample.

He turned her down gently, politely even, but it still drew Ahiru's brows together. What made a drink so special that only adults could have it? And what made her unqualified? She'd been a human girl for years now! She was a lot better at ballet than before, did lots of shopping and chores, and was even going to assist teaching a young group of children this summer. Really, she was plenty adult already! She hoped Fakir didn't mean that he still looked at her as a child…

An eyebrow twitched in a slight annoyance, and following on impulse, Ahiru abruptly grabbed at the glass, bringing it to her lips and taking a large gulp as Fakir shouted "Hey!" in protest and reached for her hand, but it was already too late.

Ahiru didn't spare time to gloat over her victory, though. In the next moment she immediately spat the liquor back out, harsh coughs rasping her throat and eyes tearing up. It tasted _horrible_! She gagged and felt the burning sensations practically alive inside of her, flaring her nose and cringing her face.

Sighing, Fakir stood up and began to rub her back, taking the glass from her fingers and setting it back down on the desk. She managed to get said desk covered in the stuff with her outburst, but he'd clean that up later after attending to the little rebel first.

"There was a reason I said I'd rather not let you drink it, you know."

Ahiru gave him a stink-eye, wiping her mouth. "Why would adults ever want to drink that at all? That was – it tasted – ugh!"

He sighed and tried not to roll his eyes, still patting her back gently. "It's not the taste that's why people drink it, it's…" Wait. It was already bad enough of an idea to let her have some, but should he really explain the effect, if it just might spark her curiosity all over again? "… It's meant to help me with my writing. At least, that's the idea. I don't even know if it'll really help at all."

She made a small (and rather adorable) huffing sound, drawing away to settle herself back on his bed and curling up with the pillow again. The sting still burned dully in her throat, but it was less intense than before. Maybe she should get some water. She frowned petulantly, her lips puckered out. "Well it's dumb."

This time Fakir did roll his eyes at her childish remark, and muttered to himself. "How old are you, _honestly_."

Ahiru shot back, "I'm not a _child_ if that's what you're thinking! I'm – !"

She stopped completely, holding his gaze as she began to realize that she didn't have an immediate answer to give him. Slowly, her indignation melted away, and her eyebrows rose as she glanced down to her hand and began counting on her fingers.

"…"

"I…" Sheepishly, her eyes met Fakir's again. "How old _am_ I?" she whispered, repeating his question with the same amount of bewilderment.

Fakir was taken aback. "You don't even _know_?"

"Well, I don't remember much before the story began! Or at least I don't remember the me from when I was a duck, but I had memories as a girl and I think those memories aren't even real and – don't ducks and people age differently? But I'm not a duck right _now_ and I certainly don't feel like I'm all that young…" Ahiru chuckled, scratching the back of her head. "I don't get it."

Defeated, Fakir pressed a knuckle to his temple and averted his eyes. "You're not the only one…"

In the end, Fakir held off writing for the night and stored the liquor in a high cabinet, any motivation to test it out drained. Ahiru remained plagued by the question of her real age for the next several days, until ultimately coming to the conclusion that she really didn't get it and maybe it really didn't matter all that much, as she had no desire to partake in 'adult' drinks anymore.

**End**


End file.
